


Visit

by FleshRemembers



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Other, Post-Season/Series 13, Pregnancy, reader is pregnant but otherwise no pronouns/body imagery is mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-21 14:21:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15559644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FleshRemembers/pseuds/FleshRemembers
Summary: You would recognize that voice anywhere.Your eyes flick over his massive form, settling into a resigned look. He barely fit in the tiny room. "Locus."The tilt of his helmet gives away that he is looking directly down at you. "You're pregnant." Gruff. Surprise. Looks like you're dealing with this now.You don't lose eye contact. "That I am," you reply flatly.





	Visit

**Author's Note:**

> i dont post for almost 2 years and this is what i come back with? lmao
> 
> reader is a former merc. there are some intentional blanks but they're (hopefully) easily filled in. let me know if you think i should tag anything else

It's about two thirty in the morning when you finally say Fuck It on trying to get any rest and draw yourself a bath. Your body has been aching something fierce the past week. With your hips starting to shift ever so slightly in preparation, your pelvic region aches. Yeah, you've dealt with worse pain, but this is seriously getting on your nerves.

You hope a warm bath might help sooth the pain, or at least help relax you enough to get some sleep. Besides, it won't be long now before getting in and out of a bath was impossible; it was already a struggle now. Might as well enjoy it while you can.

Once the water is the right temperature you slowly step inside, carefully lowering yourself down. The water rises as you lay back, though not high enough to completely cover your pregnant belly. You settle into the water, deciding to stay for a long soak. Occasionally, you let some water drain and replenish it with hot water, keeping the temperature up. The ache in your bones slowly starts to recede, at least for the time being.

Just before you decide to get out, you hear a noise from the next room. The window was sliding open and then closed. You hold your breath, listening for more. The floor creaks. There is the sound of the bedroom door being opened. There is someone in your apartment. They're in the hallway.

You know there's only one person who would come here.

"[Name]."

You would recognize that voice anywhere.

Your eyes flick over his massive form, settling into a resigned look. He barely fit in the tiny room. "Locus."

The tilt of his helmet gives away that he is looking directly down at you. "You're pregnant." Gruff. Surprise. Looks like you're dealing with this now.

You don't lose eye contact. "That I am," you reply flatly.

The two of you state at each other, waiting. Locus cracks first. He flexes his hands at his side. He sounds breathy. "Who's-" he cuts himself off, as if thinking better of it. You wait a few tense moments to see if he will continue. He doesn't.

You give him a blank look, hand instinctively resting over your stomach. "I've only ever been with one person, Locus."

He remains quiet. Though you can't see it, you can feel his eyes scanning over your body, lingering on your enlarged abdomen. It almost makes you feel self conscious.

You break the silence. "Would you like a cup of coffee?" You almost surprise yourself by the offer, but you figure he might have some questions- even if you felt he didn't deserve answers (' _You are no more innocent than him_ ,' a voice reminds you. You stomp it out easily, for now), and he must have a reason for breaking into your apartment, and it _has_ been a while since you saw a familiar face, even if any familiar faces could ruin your life in moments.

Old habits die hard, you guess.

You can feel him about to reject when you cut him off. "You're already here, and for a reason I would imagine. We can get to that then."

Locus is quiet for a moment before he finally grunts in agreement, watching as you shift into a upright sitting position.

You look at him, then move your arms out. "Well don't just stand there, help me up." He hesitates, then leans down for you, wrapping his arms around your torso and gently easing you up. It's not like he hasn't had the practice of maneuvering you gently (occupational hazards, of course) or seen you naked before. Though, you concede, he has never seen you like _this_. He leaves a supporting hand on your elbow and under your forearm as you step out. "Thank you," you tell him, smiling a bit. "Go to the kitchen, I'm gonna get dressed." He nods, making his way out of the bathroom.

Wrapping a towel around yourself, you shuffle into your bedroom, quickly pulling on a pair of shorts and a loose shirt (or not so loose anymore, you register). From the inside of your closet, you pull out a small hidden handgun, tucking it behind your back into the waistband of your shorts.

You find Locus sitting in your bright, small kitchen in his thick, dark armor. You might have found some humor in the contrast had his presence not filled you with mild dread. You started brewing a pot. "I meant it when I said I was out." You didn't know why he was here, but you could at least get that issue out of the way first, just in case. "I'm not coming back."

Locus follows your movements around the kitchen. "I can tell that now," he says.

You pause in the middle of grabbing two mugs, whirling around to him. He's staring at you, you can tell. "You realize that _now_?" You spit angrily. "What, you were anticipating on me coming back? Cracking under the pressure of civilian life? Not all of us are like you, Locus." You turn back around as the weight of what you just said washes over you. It was a low blow, and you know it. The room is tense and quiet for an few long moments.

You open your mouth to apologize. "I'm sor-"

Locus cuts you off. "I know," he says quietly, almost to himself. "That's not what I meant." You don't ask what he meant, and he doesn't tell you. The sound of him removing his helmet and placing it on the table is loud in the room.

Two mugs of coffee are made (his made just the way you know he likes it) before you turn around again. Seeing Locus without his helmet immediately puts you at ease, something you don't think he is aware of. When Locus didn't wear his helmet, that meant it was a true moment of rest, of peace- or as much as you could afford. After so long, seeing him like this conditioned you to let your guard down, if only a little. You tried not to let if affect you much now.

His mug is placed in front of him. You take a seat, wrapping your hands around your own cup. He looks like he is trying to gather his thoughts; his eyebrows are scrunched together and mouth turned down just so in the look he has when he was trying to think. You give him time, taking a sip.

He takes a deep breath, looking into his mug like it will give him answers. "Is this actually why you left?"

You shake your head. "No. I told you, I meant what I said. I was done. That job was just too much. It all was too much. This..." You gesture vaguely to your stomach. "I didn't find out till after I left."

His mouth turns down more. "Why...Why didn't you tell me?"

You blink. "Are you fucking kidding me?" You all but blanch at him. His eyes flick up to you. What, was he surprised? "What fucking good would that have done, Locus? I had just left. You and Felix were off continuing your grand scheme. I- _we_ couldn't- _can't_ afford to be mixed up with you." You pause for a breath, lowing your voice. "It's not just about me or you anymore. It's bad enough it's me in the first place- it's too dangerous. I can't do it." ' _I can't do it to_ them,' you finish in your head.

Locus stays quiet, eyes trained back to the mug. You can see his hands flex around the cup, straining. You reach over, pulling one of his hands off the side. "Don't break my fucking cup," you say, the heat from before slowly draining. You know he's likely confused and upset, even if only a little. That's a lot for him to show.

He snorts at your words, shooting you a look, but relaxing his hands nonetheless. With his face towards you, you finally take in the details of him currently. He looks tired, more tired than he usually did before. The bags under his eyes are darker, his face slightly more hollow than the last time you saw him. He catches you staring. You quirk an eyebrow.

Locus takes a sip of his coffee. "How have you been managing?"

Its a vague question that could mean a few things. You decide to stick to an equally vague answer. "Just fine. Getting by. I can make do, you know that." He doesn't need to worry about you. You don't want him to.

The kitchen goes silent. You can hear the clock from the living room tick away, the noise suddenly deafening in the tiny apartment.

You finish your cup, and get up to put it in the sink. Locus hasn't stated exactly why he was here, and it was starting to put you on edge. You were losing your patience.

As you wash your mug out, you hear the groan of his chair moving. Before you can turn to see him, he is already spinning you around, the gun from your waistband in his hand. _Of fucking course he would notice_ , you scold yourself. This is why you needed your guard up.

He looks at you accusingly. "You have a gun on you? What were you expecting me to do?" There was anger smeared into his words.

Your own anger was fanned back to life. "I didn't know what to expect, Locus! You show up to my apartment that I purposefully never told you about in the dead of night, dressed in full Armour, acting like we have some sort of business to settle, only for you to find this truth bomb here-" You gesture to yourself again. "I have no idea how this was going to go, or where it was supposed to be going in the first place. It's not like we left off on the best terms, either. What do you expect me to think?"

He's quiet for a beat, eyes hard. When he speaks his voice is icy and hurt. "That you would trust me never to do something to hurt you."

You deflate. "I...I know you wouldn't, Locus. I just-" You run a hand through your hair. "I'm worried. You can't fault me for that."  
He concedes, eyes softening a bit. "I suppose you're right," he says, sounding about as drained as you feel. He moves to place the gun behind him on the table, but changes his mind midway, instead handing the gun to you. You place the gun on the counter behind you and look up at him with tired eyes.

You rest your head in your hands for a moment. "Why are you even here, Locus?"

He places both hands on your hips, moving even more into your personal bubble.

"Locus?" You ask, your heart speeding up at his touch.

He avoids your eyes. "Felix is dead."

You can feel the shock on your face. That was not what you were expecting. Some part of you believed that asshole would live forever, if only to piss you off. You waited for Locus to continue.

"I'm done doing this. I'm not a soldier. You were right, and you were right to get out. The things we've done, the things I've done-" he looks into your eyes. "I can't do it anymore."

You move before you realize it, wrapping your arms as best you can around Locus, burying your face against him. He responds a second later, returning your embrace. He holds you gently, like he is afraid he will break you.

You knew what he was feeling well- the guilt, the anger, the shame. It was terrifying. Horrific. Just like you two were. Just like you two are.

So the two of you stand there in your small kitchen, one pregnant and the other still residing in armor, holding each other like this is the whole world. For the moment, it is.

But it can't be that way. There was just as much risk now as there was before. The two of you together- The bubble you two created was both the safest and most dangerous place to be. There was too much of a risk.

Slowly, you pull yourself away enough to speak. "You can't stay," you say firmly, but even you can hear the faint traces of mourning in your voice.

"I know," Locus replies. You can feel his voice rumble in his chest. There's finality in his statement.

You hold onto each other for a while longer before separating. His forgotten coffee is likely cold by now. The sun will be up soon.

Locus retrieves his helmet. The sight of him putting it on feels like the final nail in the coffin. You follow him back to the window he came in from ( _note to self_ , you think, _double check all locks_ ) when he turns to you. "Can I-" he breaks off. You can tell he's trying to keep composure. "Can I ever return? Just to...see?" There is little hope in his voice.

Now you can't meet his eyes. "I don't know," you breathe. "I- we cant-" your hand rests protectively over your stomach.

Locus doesn't miss the movement. "I understand," he says in that dead, emotionless voice he uses when he's bottling something up. You hope he truly does understand.

He leaves, and the air is suffocating. You go to bed, more weary than you were before he arrived. The sun starts to rise. You feel yourself cry into your pillow for the first time in a long, long while.


End file.
